narrators – Page 10 – don't confuse the narrator

the way it really happened

Discussing the draft of a new poem last night, I found myself close to using the phrase “but that’s the way it really happened” as justification for including an apparently inessential word.

This startled me. After all, I’ve made it clear that I don’t think of poetry as autobiographical. Life is a stepping off point for poetry, but I think facts can – and should – be sacrificed if they interfere with the poetical worth of the writing. So what made this particular occasion different?
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fire and rain

Some readers will remember the fraught few days last summer when I wondered if the house was to be burned to a frazzle by the Gredos fire. It’s hard to believe that with all the rain that’s fallen recently.

Anyway, I still have a “Google alert” set up that tells me when any relevant news appears on the web. Which is why I’ve just seen this headline from the catástrofes y accidentes section of ABC online:

Yes, the re-forestation has been put off because of the weather.
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new year, old writing

John Hayes’ 2010 horoscope for Gemini tells me it’s

an excellent time for writing, asserting your views and for catching up on your paperwork. However, if you identify too closely with your views, you may take a difference of opinion too personally and so there is the potential for disputes and disagreements

That’s a neat reminder about the difference between the writer/ narrator and what is written. And it’s not always just the reader who forgets this distinction. Paraphrasing Hayes: If you identify too closely with your writing, you may take criticism too personally.
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back to the narrator

It’s been a while since I mentioned poets and narrators on the blog, but Google has prompted me to return to this hobby horse of mine as it seems that the ad selector is just as likely as the novice reader to confuse the writer with the narrator of a poem.

I’ve been looking through some old emails and found one a friend sent me a while back with a poem in it for me to comment on. The poem contained the phrase “slipped disc”.
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moving experiences I

It’s a while since I posted any poetry, so, since I’m in the process of moving things from the city to the village, this seems appropriate:

PACKING

The rip and fart of parcel tape; the tangle,
stick and cuss; the smell of dust,
mothballs and corrugated cardboard.
Drugstore detergent cartons
stuffed and trussed
and stacked in the spare room.
Both cats in heat and looking
for a mate, a nest, a fond caress…
They play at pigs in pokes, scrabble,
scratch and snag at boxes, plastic bags
and bundles, wail and waul.

When finally I move, I’ll leave
fixtures and fittings
and two grown kittens.